A dozen steps carried Cara to her father’s bedside. He was snoring gently as she raised the knife into the air; but then, just as she was about to plunge the blade into his unprotected chest, the emperor gave a sudden snort and his eyelids fluttered. He must have been able to see her in the dim light, because his eyes widened, and he spoke. “Cara? Is that you? What are you doing?”
Norr heard her previous self say, “I’m sorry,” as she brought the weapon straight down. Her father produced a grunt of expelled air as the steel entered his chest, arched his back, and shuffled his feet. That was when the woman lying at his side awoke, saw Cara jerk the bloody blade out of her lover’s chest, and screamed. The noise brought two combat variants into the room. They saw the assassin and opened fire.
Rebo felt Norr jerk as if something had struck her, saw her eyes pop open, and realized that while he had been listening to Fil she had been somewhere else. “Lanni? Are you all right?”
Norr, who was surprised to discover that she was still alive, nodded weakly. “What Fil said is true. I killed my father.”
“You killed him?” Lee asked, his eyes huge. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Norr replied sadly, patting the boy on the shoulder.
“Well, no one else was,” Fil commented emotionlessly. “Once the word of Hios’s death got out there was dancing in the streets—and that was the beginning of the end. The emperor’s son tried to hold the Imperium together, but he wasn’t up to the job, and the whole structure came apart. Mobs located and destroyed most of the star gates, not to mention the AIs who operated them, and a new government came to power. It lasted fifty-four years before it was replaced by what amounted to a technocracy, the same one that built a fleet of sentient starships to replace the star gates.”
“So, what happened to Logos?” Rebo inquired pragmatically. “Lysander, that is to say Hios, told us that Logos is too smart to let himself be destroyed by a mob. Would you agree with that?”
“Logos is, or was, extremely intelligent,” Fil agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that he survived. After all, we Gate Keepers were pretty smart, too, and most of us were destroyed. Still, I have no hard evidence regarding a termination, so there’s no way to know.”
“Let’s say he’s alive,” Norr put in. “Where would he be?”
“That’s hard to say,” the AI replied cautiously, “but I can tell you this . . . The last directive I received from him originated from Etu.”
“That’s where we’re going!” Lee said brightly. “Just before Thara.”
“Maybe, and maybe not,” the runner responded, frowning to signal his displeasure regarding the information that Lee had unintentionally divulged. “Well, thank you very much. You have been most helpful.” The threesome made their way out through what remained of the ancient star gate and into the basement beyond.
Meanwhile, back in the archive, Wiley scowled and made a note to redouble his efforts to find the AI’s central processing unit as he locked the door behind them. He should spend the rest of the morning reading, the archivist knew that, but decided on a nap instead. After all, he reasoned, the manuscripts stacked all around him had been there for hundreds of years. A few additional hours wouldn’t make any difference.
The lock made a gentle click as the key turned, the door opened, and the lights came on as four heavily armed men burst into the suite. Rebo awoke, and was in the process or reaching for his handgun, when two of the intruders entered the bedroom that he and Lee shared. “Hold it right there,” one of them shouted, and pointed a double-barreled shotgun at the runner. Rebo held both hands up and away from his body.
Lee was frightened, but determined not to show it, and sat huddled on the couch where he had been sleeping. His eyes were big, but his mouth formed a straight line, and the runner felt proud of him. Especially since it seemed reasonable to assume that the men were there to kidnap the boy on behalf of the black hats.
But that assumption soon proved to be incorrect as Rebo came to realize that both intruders wore military uniforms, and a voice was heard from the next room. “All right! We have her! Time to pull out.”
The soldier nearest the door backed through it, but the man with the scattergun remained where he was. Rebo wanted to go to Norr’s aid, but the twin shotgun barrels looked like railway tunnels. The intruder seemed to read his mind. “There’s nothing to worry about. Prince Palo would like to meet your wife. No harm will come to her and she will be compensated for her time. Once the audience is over we will bring her here. In the meantime I suggest that you go back to sleep.”
Having provided what he believed to be comforting words, the soldier backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. The outer door slammed a few seconds later, and Rebo knew that the intruders were gone. The runner swore bitterly as he grabbed his weapon, swung his feet out onto the carpet, and left the bedroom to confirm what he already knew. Norr was gone.
Lee watched solemnly from across the room as Rebo returned. “Are you going after her?”
The runner was pulling his trousers on by then. He shook his head. “I can’t. But I am going to go down and have a conversation with the desk clerk. Somebody gave those bastards a key to the front door. I want to know why.”
Lee frowned. “Why not? Go after her I mean.”
“Well, there’s my responsibility to you for starters,” Rebo replied. “Plus, judging from what the guy with the shotgun had to say, the Shah’s son is the one who put the snatch on her. What am I supposed to do? Attack his palace?”
“Lanni wouldn’t abandon you,” Lee objected as he pulled his clothes on. “And don’t use me as an excuse! I’m going after her, so if you intend to guard me, you’re coming, too.”
Rebo stopped what he was doing to look at the boy. His eyes narrowed. “You promised to obey me and to do so without question. That means you’re staying right here.”
“No,” Lee replied defiantly, “I promised to obey you so long as your instructions were consistent with moral law. This one isn’t.”
“The soldier said they would return her safe and sound.”
“And maybe they will,” Lee responded, as he laced his boots, “but anything can happen when Lanni goes into a trance. Nobody knows that better than you do. I want my knives.”
There was something different about the way that the youngster spoke. He sounded like a man rather than a boy. Rebo frowned. “Your knives? You haven’t worn them since the fight on the spaceship.”
“That’s right,” Lee said determinedly, “but I’m going wear them now.”
The runner thought about what that implied. Lanni meant so much to Lee that he was not only willing to defy his bodyguard but to kill in order to protect the sensitive. Because she had become a sort of mother figure? Because he had a crush on her? It hardly mattered. Rebo nodded grudgingly. “All right, have it your way. The knives are in my pack. But don’t go off half-cocked! If we’re going to commit suicide, we’ll do it my way. Understood?”
Suddenly the man was gone and the little boy had returned. Lee grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Rebo replied gruffly. “Get a shirt on. We have work to do.”
A partially clothed Norr was still kicking and struggling as she was carried out into the guild’s lobby, past the worried-looking desk clerk, through security, and into an elevator. That particular car had been taken out of service by a frightened maintenance man who hurried to close the door once the sensitive and her abductors were safely aboard. He turned a key, and the ancient box-shaped container shuddered slightly as it began its descent.
Then, tired of trying to restrain the woman without striking her, the soldiers put her down. “Here,” a noncom said, as he shoved a wad of the woman’s clothing at her. “You’re going to have an audience with the prince, so you might want to get dressed.”
That was when Norr remembered that all she had on was a short-sleeved pullover shirt and a pair of panties. A fact that wasn’t lost on the other soldiers, all
of whom had taken the opportunity to ogle her long, slender legs.
The sensitive managed to resist the temptation to try and cover what the soldiers had already seen and sorted through the ball of clothing that had been thrust at her. Finally, after dumping most of the items onto the floor, she assembled a halfway-decent outfit. Norr was just about to get dressed when the elevator coasted to a stop. “So,” the sensitive demanded, “what’s it going to be? Should I finish dressing here? Or are you going to march a half-naked woman out through the lobby? That should start some interesting rumors about the prince.”
The noncom looked annoyed. “Go ahead and finish. Hurry it up though . . . We haven’t got all night.”
Norr frowned and folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll start the minute that you and your men leave the elevator.”
The noncom started to object, appeared to think better of it, and gestured toward the open door. “You heard the lady . . . Wait outside.”
The soldiers left, the sensitive ordered the maintenance man to close the door, and proceeded to glare at him until he turned his back. She tried the same technique on the noncom, but he’d been around for a while, and didn’t trust the variant farther than he could throw a howitzer. “You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before. Now get on with it.”
That left Norr with little choice but to turn her back on the soldier, remove the pullover, and replace it with a bra. Then, having attempted to shake the wrinkles out of her only black dress, the sensitive stepped into it and pulled the garment up the length of her body. In the meantime her mind was racing. When she awoke to find men standing next to her bed the sensitive’s first thought had been for Lee. Then, once it became obvious that they were after her rather than the boy, Norr had assumed that the intruders worked for Lysander’s Techno Society. But now, as she straightened her dress, the sensitive realized that theory was wrong, too. Assuming that what the noncom said was true, and Prince Palo wanted to see her. The question was why? “Don’t just stand there,” Norr said pointing back over her shoulder. “Zip me up.”
The noncom considered the order for a moment, decided that he could handle the spook if necessary, and took two steps forward. The zipper rose smoothly, Norr said, “Thank you,” and turned to face him. “So,” the sensitive said suggestively, “how do I look? Good enough for an audience with the Shah’s son?”
The answer was that the variant looked a lot better than she had any right to given the circumstances, but the noncom wasn’t about to say that. “It wouldn’t be for me to say, ma’am. Please exit the elevator. The captain is waiting.”
Having been unable to learn anything from the noncom, Norr stepped into a pair of seldom-used evening slippers, wished they were black instead of dark blue, and was herded out into the lobby. The soldiers gave her admiring glances, wondered what the noncom had seen, and hoped he would share.
It was late, so with the exception of the street people huddled outside, no one was present to witness the sensitive’s departure. A ragged-looking beggar, one of only three metal men in the city, noticed that the female was a 92.5 percent match with a person he had been ordered to watch for and snapped a series of digital photos via his “eyes” as the sensitive walked past him. The photos would be down-loaded to a tiny disk, which would be secured to one of the birds that constantly flew back and forth between Gos and Tra, and sent on its way the moment the sun rose.
The vehicle that waited curbside had once been equipped with an engine, but it had long since been removed to clear out a space where the coachman could sit. The conveyance was shaped like an elongated teardrop, boasted permanently darkened windows, and crouched on six tires—two in front and four in back. Running boards and handgrips had been added so that a contingent of bodyguards could cling to the vehicle’s sides. The sensitive noticed that six perfectly matched angens waited to pull the carriage and that each of them sported a black, red, and silver hood, the same colors favored by the Shah and members of his immediate family.
One of the soldiers opened a gleaming metal door and motioned for Norr to enter. The sensitive looked back over her shoulder, half-expecting to see Rebo come charging out through the lobby, and realized how absurd that was. In spite of the fact that he had been kind enough to take an interest in her problems, the runner had Lee’s safety to consider, not to mention needs of his own. And that was fine she assured herself. After all, she’d been on her own for a long time and was perfectly capable of solving her own problems. So why did she feel disappointed? Because she was being silly, that’s why—an indulgence she couldn’t afford.
Norr turned back, hiked her skirt a tiny bit higher, and slid into the coach. The interior was lit by candles concealed inside cleverly designed wall sconces. A man in fancy-looking uniform sat waiting for her. He nodded his head. “Captain Rik Tovar at your service. Please make yourself comfortable. We’re late.”
The candles flickered as the door closed, and the driver shouted an order to his team. The vehicle jerked into motion as the sensitive raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “Late? Late for what?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” Tovar replied. “You are a sensitive. Individuals having your, ah, talents are rare hereabouts. Prince Palo would like to avail himself of your services.”
Norr frowned. “Couldn’t he ask? And schedule something during the day?”
“His highness has no need to ask,” Tovar replied dryly. “And the summons was by way of an impulse. I apologize if we frightened you.”
“Oh, no,” the sensitive said caustically. “People barge into my room, point guns at me, and haul me off nearly every night. What exactly does he want?”
Tovar was relatively young, extremely well groomed, and possessed of a black mustache that he smoothed with a knuckle. “The prince has brothers, both of whom want more power, while his father seeks ways to keep all three of them at each other’s throats. That makes for a great deal of uncertainty, which is one of the reasons why his highness tries to get an edge on his siblings by taking counsel from all manner of psychics, oracles, and fortune-tellers. So, once an informer reported that a sensitive had entered the city, the prince was eager to hear whatever nonsense you might choose to spout. I recommend that you take care however . . . The more obvious frauds end up working in the mines.”
The officer was a skeptic, the kind of person who assumed that all sensitives were frauds, a breed that Norr had encountered many times before. She sat silent for a moment, cocked her head as if listening to someone, and nodded. “A woman is here to greet you . . . But she was a little girl when you last saw her. She says that she liked the name you gave her so much that she still goes by it even though there have been hundreds over the course of many incarnations.”
All the blood seemed to drain out of Tovar’s face. “A little girl? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am,” the sensitive replied. “Her name is Kia.”
“My God,” Tovar said, as tears ran down his cheeks. “It’s true! My daughter is alive! Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Norr replied sincerely. “Listen, I’m sorry to press you, especially at a moment like this. But what can you tell me about what I’m going to encounter? It could make a difference.”
The officer used a crimson sleeve to dry his cheeks. His demeanor had changed. Now, in place of the cool skepticism that characterized his earlier comments, he seemed genuinely concerned for her safety. “You already know about Prince Palo and the situation within the family, so the only other counsel I can offer you has to do with his temper. Avoid it if you can.”
Norr heard the driver shout a muffled order, felt the carriage start to slow, and saw lights through the darkened windows. The officer had regained his composure by then—as well as some of the smugness that went with it. He caught the sensitive’s eye. “I trust that our conversation will remain confidential?”
Norr nodded. “Of course.”
A servant opened the door, and Norr exited the carriage to find her
self in what felt like a fantasyland. The roughly three-story-tall building clearly predated the skyscrapers around it and was bathed in artificial light. The structure’s roof consisted of a dome that was very reminiscent of the temple in Hyber Pass, except that this one was in perfect condition and gleamed with fresh paint. Norr had the impression of a peaked pediment, horizontal entablature, and sturdy columns before being led around the side of the structure toward what she assumed was a service entrance.
Meanwhile, the manner in which the sparsely lit high-rise buildings encircled the area, plus the gardens around the palace, conveyed the impression of a park. And that was when the sensitive realized that the structure had once been open to the public. A museum, gallery, or library created for the enjoyment of regular citizens rather than a single family.
But that line of thought was subsumed by a tidal wave of emotion as Lysander’s distinctive personality flooded in around her. She hadn’t felt his presence since the session in the pass, and it came as a shock. His words seemed to reverberate inside her head. “Listen to me! It’s important.”
The sensitive shook her head. “No! Not now! Go away!”
Tovar paused in front of an open door and turned to look at her. “What did you say?”
Norr, who had been unaware that she had spoken out loud, shook her head. “It wasn’t important. Please lead the way.”
The officer took the young woman at her word and led her inside. The service entrance opened into storage area and the kitchen beyond. In spite of the fact that breakfast was still many hours away, the staff was already hard at work preparing the wide assortment of fresh-baked flatbread, butter rolls, and sweet cakes that would be served to the prince and his family should they decide to make an appearance before noon.
Having exited the kitchen, Norr was led through a maze of hallways and ushered into a small but formal room. She was the only person present, but judging from the benches and chairs, up to a dozen people were required to wait there at times.
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